


when swivelin' that hip doesn't do the trick

by seatbeltdrivein



Series: Kink-verse [1]
Category: Fullmetal Alchemist
Genre: D/s, Kink, M/M, Restraints, future!fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-02-22
Updated: 2011-02-22
Packaged: 2017-10-15 20:57:42
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,212
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/164869
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/seatbeltdrivein/pseuds/seatbeltdrivein
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Becoming the Prime Minister of the newly democratized Amestris had very little affect on the intensity of Roy's sex life, as Ed liked to remind him now and again.</p>
            </blockquote>





	when swivelin' that hip doesn't do the trick

**Author's Note:**

  * For [bob_fish](https://archiveofourown.org/users/bob_fish/gifts).



> Takes place in some AU of the manga-verse, set in a future where Ed has both his automail *and* his alchemy.

Press conferences could go on forever. Roy shifted irritably in his seat, conscious of every eye in the room following even his slightest movements. The strip of leather around his neck chafed him, sweat building along its edges and setting his skin to itch. He had half a mind to reach up and wrench the thing off, but he hadn't been in office quite long enough to survive that sort of scandal.

And it didn't help that Ed was standing in the back of the room, grinning up at him with that jagged-toothed smile.

Roy shifted again, another measured movement, crossing his ankles under the desk. The damn hall was already too hot—he should order Ed removed. Havoc was standing at his shoulder. He could do it, could escort Ed out under the pretense of official business—

"Sir, Amestris has kept Drachma on a short leash ever since the last war," one of the reporters spoke up. "Will there be any move to reconcile, or will Amestris continue dominating them?"

In the back of the room, Ed pantomimed jerking a leash, then pointed at Roy.

"That's a very good question," Roy said, eyes flickering from the smug-looking man to the reporter. "Whether we decide to continue our domination on Drachma depends solely on whether that country bows to the restrictions we've placed on them." _Do not look at Ed, do not look at Ed._ "Only time will tell," Roy finished, and managed to direct a rather charming smile at the reporter—a young woman.

When his gaze returned to the back of the room, Ed was no longer smiling—was, in fact, scowling pointedly at the group of women clamoring to question the prime minister, resorting to all sorts of ridiculous tactics. One of them had her skirt cut up the side, strings hanging off the jaggedly torn ends, stocking garter completely visible. Roy found it amusing, always did. Ed always failed to see the humor.

Either way, Roy got a good time out of it.

*

Half an hour into the meeting, Roy was getting twitchy, was restless and itchy and agitated and _could not stop staring at Ed._ Hawkeye, ever the observant one, stepped forward.

"That's all the time for questions," she said sharply, silencing all of the hundred fifty occupants of the hall. She inclined her head toward Havoc, an imperceptible motion, and the man moved quickly, patting Roy's shoulder, code for _get the hell up, we're out of here!_

It was about damn time.

The best thing about being the prime minister was all of the secret entrances and exits. Roy hadn't realized it before, but Central HQ was full of them—doors where he'd once only seen walls, tunnels leading down through the floor, escape route after escape route. It was likely something to do with the late King Bradley, but he could hardly bring himself to care when there were three hundred secret doorways to explore.

Havoc led him out of the meeting hall through one located just behind a hanging tapestry mural of Amestris' first civil war. He swept it aside the moment they were out of view of the public and let Roy walk in before hurrying inside, the thick fabric falling over the doorway behind them.

"Is it just me," Havoc asked, "or are those things getting longer? 'Cause, no offense, Chief, but if it keeps on like this, you're gonna have to schedule cigarette breaks into your press conferences."

"If I smoked, I might consider it," Roy said airily. "But as that isn't the case—"

"You haven’t been outta there for a damn minute, and you're already bein' an ass?" Ed was at the end of the passageway, holding the doorway open for them.

Roy scowled and brushed past him, ignoring Havoc's muffled snort. "Is that any way to speak to the man who runs the country?"

Ed gave him a knowing look. "Is it?" His tone was pitched with a familiar meaning, and Roy found himself frozen in his tracks. They were in Central HQ—Roy was at _work_ , for god's sake, but all the same—

All the same, Ed only had to look at him _that_ way, had to just barely shutter his eyes and lower his voice, and Roy was ready to crawl on his knees and prostrate himself at the man's feet.

It was an unlikely response—unlikely, irresponsible, irrational. Roy was a man of power.

Ed gave him that look again, tilted his chin up and said, "Well?"

That settled that, Roy supposed. "I have some time to spare." He looked at Havoc. "Clear my schedule," and Havoc just rolled his eyes and said something to the effect of, _you're both out of your fucking minds_ and walked off.

Good man, Roy thought.

"Time to spare?" Ed snickered. "Nice. You gotta pencil me into your schedule now? That so?"

Technically speaking, yes, it was so. "I'm a busy man," Roy said haughtily. "I hardly expect _you_ to understand—"

"Oh, now wait just a fucking second—"

"If you have the time to lay around in your underwear," Roy pointed out sensibly, "then you have the time to put your socks in the laundry!"

"What the hell does that have to do with anything?" Ed demanded.

"I'm just making a point," Roy said. "I'm running a country, and you're unemployed."

"I'm—I am not! I'M _SELF-EMPLOYED._ "

"It's basically the same thing."

They argued all the way down the hall, right up until they were in the doorway of Roy's office, which consisted of two front offices and his own, much more secluded, office in the back. His personal aide looked startled to see him, glancing down at the planner spread open on her desk, but the moment Ed followed him through the threshold, she cracked a nervous smile and closed the well-worn book. "Is there anything I can do, sir?"

"No," Roy said. "Feel free to go to lunch," he added breezily. She wasn't stupid. The young lady gathered her things in a rush, face blossoming red. When she hurried out the door, she barely looked Ed in the eye as he stepped out of her way.

"You used to have a way with women," Ed said, watching her practically run from the room. "Now they can't even stand to be in the same room as you."

"You're not funny," Roy snapped.

"If you say so," Ed laughed.

And then Roy closed the door to the main office. As though flipping a switch, the temperature in the room jumped up, the air around them crackling. "How much time do we have?" Ed asked casually.

"Not long," Roy admitted. "If we're lucky, half an hour?"

"That isn't long," Ed agreed, and before Roy could respond, Ed's hand was in his hair, jerking his face closer even as he stepped forward, Roy's back hitting the door with a solid _thud._ "Let’s make it worth our while," Ed spoke into the space between them.

Ed was still short enough that he had to stretch up to meet Roy's lips—but he more than made up for the awkwardness, sliding a hand under both of Roy's thighs and jerking him up and against the door, letting the man lock his legs behind Ed's back.

He could hold Roy up just fine, no matter how precarious the position felt.

When Ed ran his tongue along the line of Roy's lips, Roy's mind stumbled, coherent thought flying out the window to make room for one-worded babbling, a constant stream running like a movie reel on repeat. He was hard, his legs were strained, pulled apart at Ed's whim, and Ed—

Ed was taking his time, not even touching Roy. Slow, open-mouthed kissing, hands squeezing Roy's ass—but nothing else.

Had Roy the ability to talk, he would have been cursing loudly. Had he the ability to move, he would have been rutting against Ed's belly, riding towards pleasure.

"Problem?" Ed mouthed the word against Roy's lips.

"You," Roy groaned, "are such a—" The sentence died abruptly when Ed leaned forward, catching Roy's bottom lip between his teeth and pressing down threateningly.

"Problem?" Ed asked again, the world stifled. Roy made a vague _uh-uh_ sound, eyes glazing over. "I didn't think so," Ed said, releasing the lip and grinning.

And holy fuck, Roy was about to explode. He wanted to ask for something, wanted to beg Ed to just _touch_ him, but he knew Ed—it wouldn't be so easy.

But maybe, Roy thought, the edges of his consciousness tinged with a violent desperation, maybe if he—

Three short, sharp knocks on the door vibrated against his back. Ed jumped away from Roy like he'd been burnt, letting Roy's legs slap loudly against the door when he dropped the older man. Roy stumbled but remained right where he was, listening to the murmur of some unfamiliar voice on the other side of the thick slab of wood and thought, _Where are my gloves when I need them?_

Ed's back was to him, face directed at the wall.

Breathe, breathe, _breathe._ Roy managed to unstick himself from the door and step aside, giving himself enough room to put a hand on the knob.

He looked over at Ed, catching a glimpse of a bright red face and a body thrumming with anxiety, his back a hard line. However unfulfilled Ed was feeling, Roy was ready to gnash his teeth and set fire to whoever the bastard outside was—if he could open the door. As it was, he looked quite like he'd stuck a rod in his pants.

"You going to open it?" Ed finally asked, keeping his voice low, nearly unintelligible.

"It would be very awkward," Roy said tensely, "if I did." He left his hand on the knob. Outside, the voice was gone. Leaning closer, he pressed his ear to the door, the faint echo of footsteps just barely distinguishable through the wood. "They're gone," he announced, clearing his throat and loosening his collar.

"Fuck," Ed grumbled, pushing his bangs out of his eyes, an irritable set to his jaw.

"The office probably isn't the best place for this," Roy suggested.

"Obviously not," Ed snorted, humor bleeding through the frustration. " _Fuck_ , I hate your job."

"How odd. I love it."

Ed shook his head. "What are my chances," he began, "of you getting off early today?"

It was the casual way he said it that made Roy pause. Ed's skin had lost the reddish hue, and his dick was no longer pressing practically out of the heavy black material of his pants. He was in control of himself again, and Roy still felt like lying on the floor and weeping for the loss.

"I'd say your chances were pretty good," Roy grumbled, running a hand through his hair. "I'll be home. I will."

"Before midnight this time—no, fuck that. Six, be home at _six_." It wasn't a request. Ed looked quite serious, and Roy's stomach clenched, his entire body taut with an arousal that refused to die.

"I can manage that," he said a bit breathlessly.

When Ed walked by, he clapped a hand on Roy's shoulder, squeezing. "Be ready," was all he had to say.

Roy knew well enough what he meant.

*

At exactly one minute before six, Havoc pulled the car up to the curb, about to shift the gear to park when Roy barked, "Go around the block again!"

"Sir," Havoc said wearily, and pulled back into the street proper. "Any special reason?"

Roy snapped his pocket watch open, eyes following the minute hand as it clicked to six in the evening. "It's too early. I need five minutes."

"You have no idea how tempted I am to ask," Havoc said. "But I'm just not going to."

"Have another cigarette, Lieutenant."

Five minutes would be all he needed. By the time Roy made it through the security up front and walked in the door, Ed would be counting down the seconds. Ed was always at his best when he was frantic.

Three more times around the block, and Havoc finally looked into the rear view mirror and sighed, "Can I be done now, Chief? I have a date tonight!"

"I'm sure Lieutenant Catalina won't mind," Roy sniffed. Havoc continued glowering into the mirror. "Yes, fine, let me out!"

"Thank _you_ , sir," Havoc muttered, pulling over and stepping quickly out of the car to open Roy's door. "That's it, yeah?"

"Yes. Feel free to leave." Roy raised a brow. "Unless you're looking for something to do, of course, in which case—"

"See you tomorrow!" Havoc rushed out, bolting back to the driver's seat.

Security at the Prime Minister's home was run efficiently, and in a series of checkpoints. Roy managed to storm through them in a matter of minutes, finally stepping in the front door at almost exactly ten minutes after six.

Ed was waiting in the doorway, arms crossed over his chest. He kept quiet while Roy did up the locks, securing the house. Then he said, "I said six."

"Some obstacles are unavoidable."

"I said six," Ed repeated, stepping closer, "and I saw you drive off."

Roy's heart thudded in his chest. They were finally alone, and Ed had that spark in his eye, the one that promised some amount of suffering and an amazing time for it.

"Did you?" Roy's eyes were locked on some point just below the angle of Ed's jaw, not feeling brazen enough to meet those sharp eyes, despite his tone. "You might have been mistaken."

"Yeah, because every jackass on the block has a presidential car."

Unable to hold back a smirk at that, "You never know."

If it was a normal day, Ed would've snapped some smartass comment right back, maybe even stomped his feet a bit. As it was, the day was far from normal. Ed reached up and hooked a finger around the leather strip encircling Roy's neck, got a good grip and yanked it, forcing Roy's head down and down and down, until he was bent in half in some odd style of bow.

"I'm getting kind of tired of listening to you talk," Ed said simply. "Come on, this way." A none-too-gentle yank forced Roy's feet forward in that awkwardly bent position. He had to stare at the ground, at the pacing of Ed's own feet, because he couldn't tell if Ed was leading him to the bedroom or looking for some clever way to walk him straight into a wall.

He nearly tripped walking over the edge of the carpet and into the sitting room. Why the sitting room? Roy felt disappointed. This wasn't how it was supposed to go. Ed was supposed to drag him back to the bedroom, yank his hair, and throw on him on the ground before—

The fingers gripping the collar disappeared, replaced by a rather rough shove on the top of his head that sent Roy sprawling face-first across the floor.

 _Ouch_. Roy groaned, getting up on his hands and knees. He made to rub his face, but Ed crouched down and got a good grip around his wrist. "So here's what we're gonna do."

He wasn't frowning. He wasn't smiling, either, but that look of forced neutrality on Ed's face spoke volumes to Roy—and went straight to his cock.

Ed let go of his wrist. "On all fours." Roy put his hand flat to the ground, balancing his weight on his hands and knees. He was still dressed, completely so, and the stiff material of his military dress uniform pulled uncomfortably. "Keep your eyes open."

All the commands were so simple. Roy wasn't stupid. For every little thing Ed did or said, there would be something behind it, some reason. He kept his eyes open, followed the motion of Ed's hand when it rested against his cheek, strained to follow Ed's thumb as it brushed over his lips. He could tell Ed was leaning back, reaching for something, but the gentle pressure against his mouth, his face, was distracting. By the time he caught sight of the gag, the metal ball hanging proudly in the center of two strips of leather, there was very little he could do or say about it.

Roy flinched when Ed held the ball against his lips. Ed tutted. "Eyes open," he reminded, and pushed it in. "Hold it steady." Roy braced the piece of metal between his lips, feeling the tug of the straps as Ed secured them behind his head.

When the younger man leaned back, resting on his haunches, he looked satisfied.

The ball stretched Roy's lips and rested on the tip of his tongue, a heavy intrusion. He made a vague, wanting noise around the gag, and Ed grinned, reaching forward to tweak his nose. "I like that look on you. Maybe I should send one for Hawkeye to keep in the office?"

Roy narrowed his eyes.

"Oh, sorry, not what you wanna hear?" Ed laughed. "Well, that's fine. I wouldn't want Hawkeye seeing you like this anyway. She might enjoy it too much."

The bad part about the gag was that it had the power to turn a vicious-sounding _fuck you_ into an incoherent grunt, accompanied by a steady stream of drool. Roy couldn't imagine how ridiculous he must have looked. Ed was leering at him, the sort of look the cadets at the academy got whenever a pretty girl walked by. That Roy was the 'pretty girl' part of the equation was humiliating on more levels than he could name.

Discreetly, he shifted his knees apart on the floor, his rapidly swelling cock demanding more room.

"Your face is looking a little red, Prime Minister. Guess it's hotter in here than I thought."

Hot was a good word for it. Roy glanced up at Ed, then immediately back to the floor.

"It must be those stuffy clothes," Ed carried on casually. "Why don't you take them off?"

And there it was. Roy dug his fingers into the carpet.

"Something wrong?" Ed asked. When Roy didn't immediately respond, Ed grabbed his chin and forced Roy to meet his gaze. "I asked you a question."

Roy thumped his hands on the ground, feeling his face change rapidly from a rosy hue to a flustered burning red.

"Oh," Ed said, as though he'd only just caught on to the problem. "Can't really do much in this position, can you?" He patted Roy's cheek. "You'll manage."

Manage? Manage _how_?

"Well?" Ed gave him a pointed look. "I'm waiting." He stood, and walked over to the recliner, Roy's chair, and sat.

Roy's gaze fell to the floor, to his hands pressed palms-down. Ed wanted his hands on the ground, and it was Ed's call, whatever he wanted. Even so—

He flexed his arms, trying to pull at his uniform jacket as though hoping the buttons would magically undo themselves. Nothing, of course, it would have been foolish to honestly believe he was capable of anything in that position. Roy chanced a look at Ed, his hair falling in his eyes, and all Ed did was raise his eyebrows and drum his flesh fingers on the arm of the chair, _why are you wasting my time, Mustang?_

Roy spread his legs a little wider, closed his eyes tight, and wondered why the fuck he was so close to blowing his load this soon into the game. "Hmmph," he tried, the word _help_ disappearing between his tongue and the metal.

Ed sat up a bit straighter then. "What was that?"

Tossing his head to get his hair out of his eyes, Roy looked up, tried to impress the word into Ed. "Hllph."

"Help?" Ed tried, and Roy felt again that urge to curse the man because like _hell_ did he not get what Roy was trying to say. He nodded furiously, digging his fingers into the carpet until the tips burned. "Poor baby," Ed said, tone dripping with condescension. "Do you need help?"

Face blistering hot, Roy nodded again, head swinging back and forth so fast his bangs flopped in the air.

"I dunno," Ed said, leaning back again, resting his hand on his stomach, just beneath the loose fabric of his shirt. Roy caught a glimpse of tanned skin, a hint of fine gold hair, before Ed shifted again, obscuring the view. "Maybe if you ask nicely."

Ask _nicely_? Ed should be happy he'd asked at all! Roy tried to mouth a word, tried to get his mouth to cooperate long enough to garble something coherent, but all he managed to do was caress the metal with his tongue and spark a memory of Ed's cock, a much more pleasant weight. " _Hrrss_ ," was the best he could manage. Roy was frantic, his entire body suddenly flushed and on fire as though by Ed's suggestion alone. He needed out of his clothes, needed to be able to stretch himself out, needed Ed to lay his fucking hands on him—

"Please," Ed echoed. "I guess that's good enough. Probably the best I'll get out of you."

Yes, it absolutely was. Roy found himself nodding again, found sweat dripping into his eyes, dampening his hair. It was the most uncomfortable feeling—an over-awareness. _Please_ wasn't a strong enough word to convey how he felt, what he was willing to do.

When Ed stood, walked over to where Roy was shaking on the floor and crouched down, it felt like a prayer answered. He tapped the ball in Roy's mouth, the automail finger making a strange _clink_ sound that echoed into Roy's mouth and vibrated against his teeth. "I'll leave this where it is, though."

He could leave it wherever he wanted. Roy shifted, wriggled his hips, tried to call attention to his plight, and Ed smiled, a patient expression not often associated with the younger man, and put his hands on Roy's shoulders. "Roll over," he said, "onto your back. Legs and arms up." An order. Roy found himself obeying it before his mind could process it, his back hitting the ground and his legs and arms straight up like a dog baring its stomach to its master.

Ed looked thrilled at the reaction, and went straight for Roy's jacket, deftly undoing the buttons, then the second layer of the white oxford beneath the jacket. When he shoved the material aside, the cool air hit Roy's skin, an immediate relief. His eyes rolled back and his arms went slack until Ed swatted one sharply—with his right hand. The sting of it brought Roy back, and his arms went ramrod into the air.

"Good boy," Ed said distractedly, eyes sweeping over the smooth plane of Roy's stomach. Roy let out a strangled keen when fingers brushed through the trail of fine hair creeping down from his navel, pausing at the edge of his pants. Ed made quick work of the zip, wasting no time in dragging them and the briefs beneath to mid-thigh level. The sharp jerk of the fabric tugged Roy's cock, a brief flash of pain, before allowing it spring up and free, bobbing over his stomach, liquid beading at the head.

"Might be a little difficult," Ed was muttering to himself. He cupped the back of Roy's thighs with his flesh hand, keeping his legs upright. Gravity was beginning to work on Roy, the position leaving his lower half feeling stiff and strained in an unpleasant way. "Oh well," Ed said, and grabbed the waistband of Roy's pants, tugging it down over his ass and, in one fluid move, pulling so hard Roy's entire lower half cleared the ground, giving room to jerk the clothing all the way to his ankles, blocked only by his boots. "Legs down," Ed finally said, and Roy let the limbs go limp, propped up only by Ed's grip on his pants.

Roy was in a fog, limp and completely at ease save for his arms, two straight lines extending upwards, held up by Ed's command alone. Lower-half completely bared, Ed let Roy's legs flop to the ground, humming his satisfaction.

"Back over," Ed said, tapping Roy's belly. "On your knees, arms straight ahead," and Roy moved without question, the methodical nature of Ed's commands somehow as comforting as they were arousing.

By the time Ed had thrown every last bit of Roy's clothing into one corner of the room, leaving him to kneel naked in its center, Roy was in a state of near bliss. Next, he knew, next Ed would do _something_. He'd force Roy onto his knees, maybe, or push him half onto the couch while he—

"Well," Ed's cheerful voice broke into Roy's fantasies, "that was a lot of work."

Roy blinked.

"I think I'm gettin' kinda hungry," Ed continued. "It's like," he glanced at his watch, "seven? Really? Dinner time!" Ed announced this all with a pleased tone that sent an ominous thrill down Roy's spine. He got to his feet and grabbed something off the couch—a black lead.

Patting Roy on the head like some household pet, Ed hooked the lead to the collar Roy had worn all day, the irritating, chafing strap, and said, "Come on. I'll even set out a plate for you." Stumbling to his hands and knees to trail after Ed, Roy whimpered.

It would not be an easy night.

*

When Ed promised to set out a plate for Roy, he'd meant it literally—a plate on the floor, piled high with torn up pieces of chicken, vegetables, and biscuit. Something Ed had thrown together, fully intending for the night to turn in such a way. Ed had pulled the ballgag from Roy's mouth and secured it so it dangled around Roy's neck, a perverse parody of a necklace.

Roy sat on his knees, staring up at Ed, who looked quite happy seated at the table, eating as though he hadn't a care in the world. Every so often, he would glance down at Roy, meet his eyes, and then point his fork at the plate.

There was nothing pleasant about eating with a hard-on, Roy was quick to learn. He'd expected that particular excitement to die down the moment Ed started ignoring him, the dining room loud with the younger man's smacking chews, but as soon as Roy had gained back his awareness, had begun to show the slightest hint of rebelliousness, Ed had turned his chair sideways, leaning his elbow on the table, and stuck his foot forward into the V of Roy's legs, applying a gentle pressure to his fading erection.

Ed's ability to multitask apparently extended beyond alchemy, if his ability to tease Roy and continue shoving food in his mouth was any indication.

He'd hooked the end of Roy's lead to a catch on the side of the table, an obviously new addition, bearing all the signs of a recent transmutation. Roy made a mental note to bring up the house rule at the end of the night—thou shalt not modify the furniture without the express permission of the Prime Minister.

Ed's foot pressed a little harder, toeing the line between pain and pleasure. "S'a matter?" Ed nearly cooed, his tone one would normally would reserve for a pet. "Not hungry?"

Roy shifted, let his gaze fall to the boot between his legs. "No," he said.

The boot pressed harder. "No…"

"No, _sir_ ," Roy said, breathless, and when the pressure receded, he was very nearly disappointed.

"S'fine," Ed said dismissively. "I'll be done eventually."

Eventually, depending on the man's mood, could be five minutes—or two hours. Everything came down to Ed.

An involuntary tremor seized Roy's body, and a droplet of precum slid down his cock from the sudden movement, dripping onto his thigh. Ed didn't spare Roy a glance, just kept right on eating like it was perfectly normal.

In a way, Roy supposed it was.

But his luck was taking a turn for the better, as Ed had set his fork on the table and pushed his plate away. Roy tried to sit up on his knees, to draw attention to himself so he wouldn't have to voice his need.

Ed—didn't acknowledge him. Instead, he stood, grabbing his plate, and walked it over to the sink, where he proceeded to flip on the faucet and wash the dish. Somewhere in the back of Roy's mind, the little corner that remained of his rational thought took notice and wondered why Ed only did the dishes when it involved torturing Roy, but the answer, he quickly realized, was within the question.

The sink turned off, and Ed flicked the water off his hands.

Roy watched him walk back to the table, to him, with a sense of trepidation. When Ed unhooked the lead, giving it a tug, his hands hit the floor immediately. He wanted out of the fucking kitchen, wanted—a lot of things, really, and Roy wasn't stupid enough to think he'd be getting any of them any time soon.

"Come," Ed said, and Roy followed.

*

When Ed tugged him into the bedroom, Roy nearly wept with relief. His knees and the palms of his hands burnt from crawling across carpet, and while he was certain to feel it in the morning, Roy felt nothing but excruciating arousal when Ed gave him permission to crawl onto the bed, directing him onto his knees, his lower arms resting fully on the mattress.

"Eyes straight ahead," Ed snapped when, at the sound of shoes hitting the floor, Roy turned his head. It was too fucking hard not to look, too tempting not to try to catch a glimpse of Ed's body. The sound of a belt whipping out of its loops nearly did Roy in, causing his hips to flex, his stomach to tense with a curl of heat that rushed through him all at once.

Wetting his too-dry lips, Roy pushed his forehead into the mattress.

"How're you feelin'?" Ed asked, voice barely more than a husk, and laid a hand on the small of Roy's back. Roy took the question for what it was and arched into Ed's touch, answer enough.

"That so," Ed said, drawing his hand away. Roy let out a discontented sound. "What?" Ed laughed, a low, rumbling noise that sent Roy's toes to curling. "Whining already? You haven't got shit to whine about yet."

 _Yet_ , Roy knew, meant that he eventually would—and soon. When Ed's hand came down loud, smacking against Roy's ass with a stinging pain that forced a yelp from the man's throat, Roy hardly had the time to be surprised.

When that hand came down again, a second searing slap, Roy's cock was already dripping onto the bedspread.

"You're getting the bed dirty," Ed pointed out in a tone verging on boredom. He _tsked_ loudly and reached under Roy, grabbing his cock and _squeezing_. Roy went rigid, back arching like a bow, and let out a keen so loud that the overnight security guards had to have heard it. "Oh?" Ed said. "Like that?" Roy pushed into Ed's hand, desperate for friction, for movement, but Ed's grip remained resolute, a vice existing for the sole purpose of pushing Roy to the edge and holding him there against his will.

Roy let out another whine, a long animalistic sound, and Ed, hand still gripping his cock, leaned down so he could speak directly into Roy's ear, a rush of hot air: "What do you want?"

As hard as he was, Roy couldn't get the words out, couldn't do anything but toss his head from side to side and desperately think, _anything, god, anything, just_ —

"You have to tell me," Ed ordered, and tightened his grip. Roy's neck cracked back, his entire body distorting into an unnatural position as a constant stream of incoherent sounds poured from his mouth, pleasure manifesting into something verbal and wholly unrecognizable as human speech.

Ed was _right there_ , his presence itself overwhelming, and the only thing Roy's mind could process, the only word his tongue could trip out, was a simple, " _Please_ ," drawn out like a sung note.

It must have satisfied Ed, because his grip went slack enough that Roy could fuck his fist, could shove his hips back and forth, the burn of too-stretched muscles as sweet as any pleasure. Ed let him, let him move and move and move, right until he was there, until Roy was pushed so far that his body went tight with orgasm—

And Ed's fist clamped down, cruel and unforgiving.

Roy _wailed_ , his brain short-circuiting, every single nerve in his body flaring and twisting and convulsing all at once. He was barely aware of the, " _nonononononono_ ," flooding from his mouth, of Ed's almost sympathetic look—beyond his cock and the terrible restraint on it, the world had ceased to be.

Ed shushed him, his free hand petting Roy's back, that light touch giving Roy just enough to focus on that he could attempt to unwind his body. He was all at once aware of a strange dampness on his face, but Ed was quick to distract him, pressing a kiss between his shoulders, the gentleness of it an odd contrast with the hand around his cock.

"Breathe," Ed told him, and Roy did, his lungs expanding and contracting as though directly connected to Ed's whims.

Back to reality, back to Earth, to their room, to their bed, and the frustration pulsing through him as the blood in his veins—Roy rested his cheek on the bed and panted.

"How are you?" Ed asked again, mouth to Roy's back and the words love into his skin. Roy just nodded, too far gone for much else, and inhaled sharply when Ed climbed up onto the bed, a careful maneuvering of arms and legs and the hand still holding Roy's cock.

Naked skin to naked skin, Ed leaned over him, reaching to the pillows next Roy's face, under them. Roy caught sight of a bottle in Ed's hand when he pulled back, but it was just a picture, just something he could see rather than comprehend.

Ed's cock pressed against the cleft of Roy's ass, hard and every bit as needy as Roy's own. The weight felt good, comfortable, and when it disappeared, Roy felt an overwhelming loss that egged him into shifting, into searching for something. Ed's flesh hand released his cock gently and fell to Roy's hip, rubbing a soothing circle. This time when the pressure disappeared, Roy remained still.

The sound of a click, the squelch of something viscous, and the best feeling in the universe—metal fingers, wet with something thick, pressing into his cleft, searching, sliding inside. Roy let out a sigh, pushing back, wanting nothing more than for Ed to fuck him with those fingers. A feeling of fullness, pleasant but not quite enough, permeated through Roy's being, contentedness quick to follow it—until those fingers drew back, leaving him once again empty and wanting.

Some sad, desperate noise sounded in the room, and Roy didn't realize it came from his mouth until Ed's hand was rubbing at his hip again, until the younger man began murmuring soothing sounds.

Something blunt, hard, hot pressed between Roy's ass cheeks, nudging that relaxed ring of muscles. Roy felt his body tightening in anticipation, and when Ed slid in, one long, smooth motion, it was too much—he was too full, too wired. Roy came for what felt like an eternity, driven on by the slow, steady feel of Ed pistoning in and out of him.

Even when his body went liquid, practically oozing into a puddle on the bed, Ed kept fucking into him, groaning these long, low noises that wrapped around Roy's consciousness and settled into his mind, every bit as possessing as the man uttering them. He couldn't begin to imagine getting hard again, wasn't physically capable of it, but when Ed pulled out, shooting all over his back, Roy felt his ass spasming, body twitching with the last remnants of pleasure.

With nothing left to support him, Roy collapsed to the bed, vision blotchy, chest heaving.

There was no telling how long he stayed like that, stuck between consciousness and sleep. When Roy's senses finally returned to him, he managed to turn his head to the side. Ed walked out of the bathroom, a bowl in one hand and a rag in the other, cock limp and wet against his thigh.

"Roy," he said softly, and Roy let out a huff, enough of an acknowledgement that Ed felt safe in laughing. He sat on the bed at Roy's side, put the bowl on the bedside table. Roy lay limp, barely twitching when the warm, damp rag wiped along his back, delving between the cheeks of his ass.

Apparently having deemed him clean enough, Ed dropped the rag into the bowl and climbed into bed next to Roy, spreading out, a sated grin on his face. Roy eyed him.

"What?" Ed asked.

"Next time," Roy rasped, his mind finally cooperating enough to form true words, "is your turn."

Ed laughed, rolling onto his side to run a hand through Roy's hair. "Whatever you say, Minister Mustang."


End file.
